


Memories

by MWolfe13



Category: DCU, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, F/M, MerryLittleExchange19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21591157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MWolfe13/pseuds/MWolfe13
Summary: Hermione would love to curl up with a book. Arthur has other ideas.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Arthur Curry
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25
Collections: Have Yourself a Merry Little Exchange 2019





	Memories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Squarepeg72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squarepeg72/gifts).



> Written for Melting Pot's Merry Little Exchange 2019! This is for squarepeg72.
> 
> I do not own Harry Potter or anything from the DC Universe! Just enjoyed combining their sandboxes!

Hermione grumbled under her breath as she wheeled her little suitcase up the driveway of the two-story cottage her friends were renting for the holiday. Why had she let Diana talk her into this? She  _ hated _ Christmas with a passion. There was the oversung music, and the overdone light shows, the obsessive present giving. Besides, she wasn’t even a  _ member _ of the Justice League. She just happened to join them from time to time when her cases crossed theirs.

She heard the tune before she opened the front door; cheerful, out of tune, loud. The male voice belonged to a giant with unruly hair singing with a happy head bob as he placed silver tinsel over the fireplace. He was dressed in a monstrosity of a sweater, blinking lights and pom poms decorating the front. He was belting out ‘All I Want For Christmas’, a song that made Hermione want to chuck the nearest item available, preferably at the person singing.

Merlin, she  _ knew _ she should have stayed home.

The mad turned at her entry, grinning when he caught sight of her. “You must be Hermione.” 

“And you must be Mr. Curry,” she said politely, closing the door behind her.

“Arthur’s fine,” he granted with ease. “You’re the next one here, so you get the choice of rooms. I’ve got a bottle of red open. We can drink it while we go through the ornaments for the tree.”

Hermione barely bit back a grimace, trying for a smile instead. She was sure it was a cross of both. “I’ll take the wine.”

She had to admit, the room she chose was beautiful; a big bed in a spacious area, a fireplace, and large windows that led to a small balcony. She could see the wilderness landscape from the open curtains. If only she could light the fire and curl up with a book…

When Hermione made it back down, Arthur was ready with her glass of wine. He handed it to her, eagerly sitting on the couch that was surrounded by brown boxes. “Alright, let’s get the sortment started!”

She bit her lip, trying to think of a way out of this. “Shouldn’t we wait for the others to arrive?”

He patted the seat beside him, a clear invitation to join. “The first one here  _ always _ gets to pick what goes on the tree. It minimizes fights that way.” He frowned. “Barry has no taste. It’s best we sort this before he gets here.”

With a put upon sigh, Hermione sat with her wine and prepared to be thrown in Christmas hell. 

The lights went out a moment later, the only illumination Arthur’s flashing sweater lights and the natural brightness outside.

“Every year,” Arthur sighed.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked suspiciously.

“This area gets busy this time of year, with all the cabins being rented to people like you and me. Eventually, the power will go out and it will take them a day or two to get it all working again.” He shrugged, opening the boxes. “We’ll be fine. We’ll sort these out, get the fire going, maybe make some hot chocolate. It’ll be fun!”

His words brought a little fissure of pain to Hermione, one she ruthlessly tamped down. “Oh, we won’t need to do that. I’ll just grab my wand, and bring the power back.”

Arthur grinned at her. “Didn’t Diana tell you? These parts of the mountains are a magic dead zone. Magic, abilities, none at that work here. Even the tech out today has a hard time running as it should. It’s what we like about coming here.”

Hermione could only blink at him. He _ had _ to be joking. So she treated it like one, snorting through her disbelief. “That was only a little funny, Arthur.”

“Wasn’t kidding.”

The easy way he went back to sifting through ornaments had her stilling. “You aren’t joking?” His answer was a grunt. “No, no, no. You have to be joking. There is no way I am stuck here with no magic in the mini version of St.Nick’s house.”

Arthur glanced up, carefully taking the wine glass from her tensing fingers. “There’s no need to freak out. Let me tell you about this one Christmas-”

“No!” Hermione stood, tripping around boxes in her haste to get to the stairs. “I don’t want to hear anything about Christmas!” She ran up the stairs, one part appalled by her actions and two parts furious that she was here in the first place.

She pushed her balcony doors open, welcoming the cool air that greeted her body. The chill was a small shock to her system, allowing her to calm down a little. She reminded herself that it was  _ okay _ to be without her magic. She certainly hadn’t noticed it was gone before and wasn’t that progress? She’d light the fire the old fashioned way, curl up in the big bed, and read the few books she’d been allowed to bring. When she was done with those, she was sure there was a place here in this house that had a few. If not, she’d spend time writing ideas down for the updated Auror training manual she wanted to introduce to the Ministry.

“You better?”

She hadn’t heard him come up. She spun around, seeing his lengthy form leaning against the frame of her balcony doors. She turned back, her forearms on the railing. “I apologize for my outburst. I’m not normally that emotional.”

“Right.” She heard his footsteps now as he made his way to her side. “How come you hate Christmas?”

“I don’t hate Christmas.”

Arthur chuckled. “Oh, I think that’s a big fat lie. Come on, what gives?”

“Look,” she started. “Just because I’m not Jolly Goodfellow like you-”

He held up his hands. “Whoa! Mercy. Stow the defense cannons. That doesn’t sound like someone who likes Christmas.” He paused. “Jolly Goodfellow? What does that  _ even _ mean?”

Hermione sighed, “Can we please drop it?”

“Not a chance. We already have one Grinch with Bruce, we don’t need two.” He poked her arm. “Come on, you can tell me. Was it a bad break up? You didn’t get what you want one too many years in a row? People try to kill you when you just want to relax?” Arthur rubbed a hand over his beard. “Okay, maybe that one’s just me.”

She let out an involuntary giggle. “No one’s tried to kill me during the holidays since I was eighteen.”

“Lucky,” Arthur whined. “But seriously, fess up. If not, I’ll think you’re the most selfish woman on the planet who has a stupid reason for hating a joyful time of year.”

Honestly, Hermione was beyond caring what other people thought of her, but what was the harm? It wasn’t as if she  _ couldn’t _ speak of it. “My parents used to make a big deal out of Christmas, especially after I started my magic schooling. We would decorate the tree by firelight, drinking hot cocoa and catching up after months of being separated. It was my favorite time of the year, really.”

“How did they die?” Arthur asked.

“What?”

Arthur shifted. “How did they bite it? That sounds way too homey for them not to continue once you reached adulthood.”

Hermione’s eyes fell to the railing. “They aren’t dead. Due to some unfortunate circumstances when I was a teenager, I had to use magic on them. They haven’t forgiven me.”

“Harsh,” Arthur commented. “And that’s why you hate Christmas?”

“It brings back painful memories,” Hermione explained. “I tried reaching out to them for a few years before realizing they would never soften towards me.” She smiled bitterly. “They’ve adopted a little girl, last I heard. She’s completely normal, no chance of magic flowing through her veins.”

“So screw them.”

The words were so unexpected, she looked up in shock. “Excuse me?”

“They don’t want you?” Arthur shrugged. “That’s fine. You can make your own memories, your own family.” He grinned. “You can start with us. We’re a good bunch of misfits. You’ll fit right in.”

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t think it works that way, Arthur.”

Arthur took her hand, pulling her away from the edge of the balcony. “Let me show you how good it can be.”

* * *

So maybe taking Hermione on a sled race hadn’t been the best of plans. Who knew the woman, so badass from what Diana said, was scared of anything adventurous. She screamed or grit her teeth the entire way down, failing her landing and being thrown into a pile of snow. With no powers, Arthur had needed to carry the soaked witch up the steep hill they’d come down and into a powerless cabin.

The next part hadn’t been so bad. Hermione had changed into dry clothes while Arthur got the fire started. Then he’d amused her with stories of his own childhood while they enjoyed the warmth of the flames. His natural body heat had drawn Hermione to him slowly, and now they were pressed together, second wine bottle empty.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Hermione choked out through slowing laughs. “Your poor father.”

“I was a handful,” Arthur agreed. “But he loves me anyway. Wine?”

Hermione gestured to the bottles they’d already killed. “We need to leave some for our friends.”

“Nah, we’ve got plenty.” Arthur started playing with the ends of her hair, his arm curled around her waist. “Bruce will bring a handful of what he considers the best in any case. Does it every year.”

Hermione frowned, looking at the clock on the wall. “I’m surprised no one else has shown up.”

Arthur shrugged, not really caring that his team hadn’t arrived yet. He wasn’t alone after all. “They’ll make their way up here eventually.” He leaned in close. “Tired of me already?”

Hermione’s face flushed at his close proximity. “No…” She glanced down at the arm around her in surprise, smiling back up at him shyly. “You’re very warm.”

“We can be warmer,” he suggested.

She did not mistake his intentions, eyes widening. “Arthur…”

“Look up, Hermione.”

She did, eyebrows raising at the green sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. How had she  _ missed  _ that? She was distracted by Arthur placing small chaste kisses up her neck, his lips making way to her mouth. “Let’s make some new memories, Hermione, the first of many.”

Well, she couldn’t disagree with that.


End file.
